Tuesday, January 29, 2013

I took out my pass for a lazy day today and
didn't really do too much save for update the ride report, patch my spare rear
tube, apply stickers to my boxes, and drink beer.

I did manage to go to a
Honda shop and buy some oil for my upcoming oil change. While I was there I
asked for a recommendation for a good "llanteria" (tire shop). I was sent over
to Teo's, which was housed in a small shack on a back alley. Teo hooked me up
and did a vulcanized patch on the big hole that resulted from the metal share
that I picked up outside of Cusco.

Beings that
it only cost a dollar, I figured that this would result in a higher quality
patch than anything I could do myself.

During the taxi ride back to the
hostel, somebody started honking at my cabby and he exploded in a verbal
barage.

"The people here are animals! I swear, it's like driving in
hell!"

This was all in Spanish and it had me dying laughing. His tirade
continued for a good five minutes before eventually petering out.

I spent
the rest of the day vegging out and drinking beer. Tomorrow we ride the death
road!

Monday, January 28, 2013

Waking
up early after nearly 10 hours of sleep, I climbed the nearby hill to get a
better view of our campsite.

We
really lucked out when we found that campsite. I walked back down to the tents
just as everyone else was starting to get up.

We
fired up the stoves again and started boiling water for instant coffee and
porridge.

Bowls
were on short supply, so we improvised.

After
striking camp, we got back on the road and made it to the next gas station.
Leaving the gas station, Corey, Mike, and I were all flagged down by a bunch of
cops in a Hilux Surf. I smelled trouble, and sure enough, they demanded to see
our insurance.

Normally this wouldn't be an issue; however, I had not
bought insurance at the Peruvian border. Assuming that the Peruvian insurance
wouldn't be worth the paper it was printed on, I had just showed my American
insurance to the border officials and kept on riding. Corey was in the same
boat. Mike, however, had purchased the Peruvian insurance and the cops let him
go with no issues.

Corey and I were now left with the unenviable prospect
of trying to convince the police that our insurance cards from Canada and the
USA were valid in Peru. Instead of playing the dumb gringo this time, I tried to
explain everything very clearly in Spanish. As the discussion wore on, it became
obvious that we were about to reach an impasse with the cops. They weren't
satisfied with our story about having "international coverage" through our
insurance and I knew that they couldn't sell us insurance on the spot. After a
while, one of them started asking me how much my camera cost and I started to
smell a bribe coming on.

In a last ditch effort to get away without
paying, I decided to change the subject and play the friendly gringo. I asked
one of the cops if he liked the Berreta 92 that he was carrying. He said that it
was a good pistol and I told him that I had the same one at home in the States.
This spawned a discussion on the merits of various pistols and before long the
cops demeanors had changed. Before long one of them asked if I had served in the
Army. I sensed an opportunity to appeal to the "Brothers in Arms" theme and told
them about my time in the Marines and in Afghanistan.

After we went down
that path, everything got better. Before long they were smiling and joking and
after a few minutes they let us leave. I asked them if I could take their
picture with the bikes, but they politely refused, saying that they needed to
protect their identifies. Still, I managed to sneak a photo in while they
weren't looking.

Back
on the road, we headed south for Lake Titicaca and the Peru-Bolivia border. The
first views of Lake Titicaca came soon:

As
I rode along the lake shore, I noticed several teams of locals weaving ropes
along side the rode. I went to take a picture and the local lady pulled her hat
down to cover her face. Apparently they aren't too fond of pictures.

Eventually
Mike and I reached a little turnoff overlooking the lake and stopped to get a
few pictures.

After
the Canadians caught up, we continued pushing for the border. We elected to take
the border crossing at Yunguyo which involves crossing the border onto a
peninsula in the lake, then taking a ferry to the mainland side of Bolivia.
There is another border crossing that skirts the lake, but we figured it would
be a little more fun to ride a boat.

The border crossing proved to be muy
tranquilo. Once again I was surprised at the contrast between Central American
borders and South American Borders. We were in and out of the Peruvian offices
in about 10 minutes.

Crossing
over to the Bolivian side, I saw an interesting sign for the pay
toilets:

Just
in case you can't make it out, there is a bird wearing a trench coat with a
slight vapor trail coming out of his behind. Where do they come up with this
stuff?

Getting into Boliva required slightly longer than getting out of
Peru, thanks in part to the $135 tourist visa that Americans are required to
purchase before entering. Apparently there is some bad blood between Bolivia and
the States, especially after they declined to continue participating in the Coca
eradication program that the US was pushing. Furthermore, we apparently charge
Bolivians a substantial fee to get into the States, so I guess we had it coming.
Still, it's a pain in the ass, especially when I watched the Canadians waltzing
into the country without paying a dime.

The final process for getting
into Bolivia required us to obtain signatures from the Cops. Before handing us
our papers back, the police officer launched into a big, rambling, incoherent
speech. It soon became apparent that he was asking for a "donation" so that he
could re-paint his office. Obviously a thinly veiled attempt at bribery, I
couldn't help but chuckle. We eventually told him that we were poor gringos and
could not afford to give out any donations. We half considered waling across the
street and buying him a can of paint at the hardware store, just for
laughs.

Leaving the border, we rode the final 40 kilometers to the ferry
crossing.

The
ferries consisted of large wooden rafts powered by tiny outboard motors. It was
quite amazing just how many vehicles they could cram on these things. We saw one
take on a full size steam roller. Incredible.

All
in all, the ferry ride cost 15 Bolivianos apiece. It was worth it though, at
least to just have an interesting story.

Turning
the bike around on the raft in order to disembark proved challenging. Especially
Mike's massive BMW.

After
disembarking, Mike and I said goodbye to the Canadians who were planning on
camping that night and made tracks for La Paz.

Riding the sun down into
the scrambled outlying barrios of La Paz proved to be an interesting experience.
The choking diesel fumes and swirling dust, the cinder block structures, the
bumper to bumper minibus traffic, the native women in their bowler hats and
brightly colored skirts, the occasional electric blue flash of an arc welder,
and the reek of burning trash and decomposing dead animals all combined into a
beautiful cacophony typical of Latin Americana.

Pausing
just above the main city at a mirador (viewpoint), we snapped a few pictures of
the city in the growing twilight.

We
made it to Hostal Maya Inn just after dark, only to find that they were full!
However, they were able to store our bikes in their garage and take a
reservation for the following night. After a few minutes of searching, we found
a nearby hotel and crashed.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Returning
to Cusco, we met up with Kurt and Corey (the two Canadians) and their friend
John. John had done this trip about eight years ago and left his bike, totally
disassembled, in Venezuela. On a whim, he decided to fly down to Venezuela, put
his bike back together, and ride with Kurt and Corey to Chile. He's riding a
1970's BMW R90GS that constantly leaks oil and gasoline and needs to be push
started every morning to get running. The needle on one of his carburetors is
messed up for some reason, and he has to regulate the flow of gasoline to his
engine by slowly adjusting the fuel petcocks as he rides. He's got some crazy
stories.

Along with Mike, the three Canadians, and myself, we also
managed to pick up an Argentinian named Alfonso on a BMW 650GS. So, now we were
all leaving Cusco in a massive ADV MC with six riders.

Our
plan was to reach Puno on Lake Titicaca and spend the night there.
Unfortunately, a scant eight miles outside of town, disaster struck!

Riding
over a patch of dirt in the road, I felt my rear tire lose traction. I assumed I
was just sliding on the dirt and gravel; however, after it kept sliding around,
I looked down and realized that I had a flat.

I pulled into a school
parking lot and took off the wheel. Once again, the enduro stand that I made in
Huaraz saved the day.

A
quick examination revealed the culprit:

It
appeared to be just a random shard of metal that I had picked up in the middle
of the road. What are the chances? I got down to business and had the tube
changed out in twenty minutes. I then went to air it back up and realized that I
had pinched the new tube!

So
I then had to pull the new tube out, patch it, and re-install it. What should
have only taken 20 minutes ended up taking about an hour and a half. Luckily,
the whole gang of riders pitched in and helped out. Mike and John even went down
the street, bought bread and canned tuna, and came back and made sandwiches for
everyone. Meanwhile, Alfonso helped entertain some of the kids who had come out
to watch.

Finally,
with the new patched tube installed and inflated, we got back on the road. I had
already ridden this stretch of road on the way into Cusco from Arequipa, but it
was nice to ride it at a more leisurely pace without getting rained on
constantly.

Riding
in a group of six people over long distances is actually pretty challenging.
Everyone has their own pace and their own riding style. Still, we managed to
make it work. I enjoyed letting someone else take lead for a change. I was also
able to sit back and enjoy some of the sights that I had missed on the way
in.

Due
to the late start and the flat, by 4:00 PM we were still 100 miles short of
Puno. We made the decision to eat a good dinner at a restaurant and then hunt
down a place to camp.

The
owner of the resteraunt told us of some Incan ruins near a small village down
the road where we might be able to camp. After dinner, we rode down to the ruins
and found that they were actually in the village and would probably not afford a
suitable camp site. On the way in I had noticed a dirt road leading up into the
hills away from the village; with the ruins out of the question, I decided to do
a short recon and see if there wasn't a good spot to hide out and camp in the
hills.

The road ended up being mostly eroded, overgrown with grass, and
struin with baseball sized rocks. Still, about a half mile outside of the
village, I found a small grassy field surrounded by a low rockwall and nestled
between two small hills. It was the perfect campsite, hidden, quiet, and
free!

I rode back down and told the others and we all headed back up into
the hills. I was a little worried that John's bike wouldn't make it, but he
managed to plough up the hill and through a gap in the rock wall with ease.
Those old BMW's run forever.

We
set up camp in the dark, and then got out the stoves and made Yerba Matte and
hot Chocolate.

This
was the first time I had practiced stealth camping on this trip. Usually, I have
set up my tent in developed campgrounds or in the backyard at a Hostel. It was a
nice change of pace and even nicer with five other riders to hang out with.
Without any ride report to write, it was an early night: in the sleeping bag by
eight!

Saturday, January 26, 2013

We
got on the train this morning at 6:30 AM and rode back to Hidrolectrica where we
took a "collectiva" (minibus group taxi) back to Santa Theressa and picked up
our bikes from the Hostel. Angel, the owner, was a cool guy and he wanted a
picture with us before we left, so I obliged.

The
road out was significantly more wet and muddy than it had been on the way in,
and my tires were sliding all over the place.

The
conditions made for great pictures and it was a treat to get to ride that
amazing road again.

Coming
back up towards the pass, the weather remained relatively overcast; however,
there was little to no rain and fog was significantly less intense than it had
been on the way in.

The
run off from the previous night's storm was raging in the creeks and rivers. In
several spots it appeared that the engineers who had constructed the road had
decided to forgo culverts or bridges and just make small concrete fordsl adding
a little bit of extra fun to an already amazing road.

As
the road neared the top of the pass, the clouds began to part enough to allow
visions of the glacier clad mountains surrounding the pass.

I
stopped to get some close ups of the glaciers.....

A
little bit below the top of the pass I came across a minibus full of tourists on
mountain bikes who were preparing to descend the pass with a guide.

I
stopped and chatted with the minibus driver. He asked me a bunch of questions
about my bike and told me that he had an XR400. We conversed for a while and he
asked me if I was from Argentina. I laughed and told him that I was a gringo
from the states. This is actually the third time this has happened. Apparently
my Spanish is either so good or my accent so strange, that I'm being mistaken
for an Argentinian. I've also been mistaken for a Brazilian once, go figure.
While we were talking, I got a good picture of the bike with the mountains in
the background

Mike
showed up a few minutes later and we got some more pictures.

We
continued on up to the top of the pass and were in for a real treat:
snow!

As
I approached the top, I noticed two girls who had stationed themselves alongside
the road. As I approached they began hurling snowballs at me; I made a quick
U-turn and went back to stand beneath their withering hale of fire for the sake
of photography. As I was snapping pictures, one of their projectiles hit me
right in the head. I suppose it was a good thing I was wearing a
helmet!

I
soon left the snow and decended down some amazing switchbacks. Just look at all
of these turns:

After
descending a few thousand feet through cloud forest and past Incan ruins on a
beautiful road, I arrived in Ollantaytambo and stopped for lunch in the town
square.

I
ate a couple of ham sandwichs and had a few cups of coffee before Mike showed up
and we got ready to leave. Before I got on my bike I considered all of the rough
riding that I had done over the past few days and decided to give it a quick
look-over to make sure nothing had broken. Unfortunately my instincts proved
correct and I found that the bolt that holds the muffler to the frame had
loosened up and fell out. It seems like I can't go more than a few days without
some minor bike problem popping up. I guess that's what I get for pushing the
bike to the limit every day.

I busted out my tools and found that I
didn't have any extra bolts that were long enough to replace the missing one. I
resorted to the MacGyver solution and just bound it back together with a few zip
ties and some bailing wire.

I
flew down the Sacred Valley and covered the remaining miles to Cusco quickly. I
parked my bike at the hostel and immediately took a taxi to the hardware store
and found a new bolt to hold the exhaust together. With that minor emergency
taken care of, I stripped off the side panels and luggage and gave the bike a
thorough examination for any other problems that may have developed while I was
riding like a hooligan in the dirt.

Fortunately, everything else seemed
to be okay. I'm very surprised that the subframe hasn't cracked yet. With the
amount of weight I'm carrying and the way I ride on dirt roads and trails, I
should have broken that thing a long time ago.

For dinner, I went out and
had a plate of "La Causa" (The Cause). A Peruvian told me that this dish
originates from back in the day when Chile and Peru were at war. The Peruvian
government was too poor to buy bullets for it's soldiers, so the women of Lima
would make this dish and then go out in the streets and sell it to help raise
money to buy bullets for their men. This was "The Cause" that the dish takes
it's name for. It's quite tasty and only costs 3 Soles ($1.50) a
plate.

That's
it for today. It was a solid, if somewhat muddy, day of riding. Tomorrow I'm
going to start heading towards Lake Titicaca and then on to Bolivia. The Death
Road and the Salar de Uny aren't far off now...